


Up With The Birds

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Angst, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Dead Sheriff Stilinski, Dubious Consent, Heroin, M/M, Minor Violence, Possessive Behavior, Recreational Drug Use, Self Confidence Issues, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 18:13:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3178244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Can I sit here?”</p><p>He looked up towards the man who had interrupted his thoughts. He had the most intense eyes Stiles had ever seen. They were like frozen explosions, golden in the middle and darker at the edges. They reminded him of the wave of sand escaping a foot trampled down into the ocean floor.</p><p>Stiles was suddenly lost for words. “Uh … yeah. Sure.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up With The Birds

_If you never shoot, you’ll never know_  
 _And if you never eat, you’ll never grow_  
 _You’ve got a pretty kind of dirty face_  
 _And when he’s leaving your home he’s begging you, “Stay, stay, stay, stay, stay.”_  
   
Stiles tightened the belt around his arm and inserted the needle into one of the protruding veins. He watched the sun appear from behind the clouds. The air was still wet with rain, evident by the gleaming arc of a rainbow near the horizon. Stiles brain was fogging up until the rays of light seemed to flicker along with the beating of his heart.  
   
A press of his thumb and his eyes rolled back into his head, the back of his skull collided with concrete as he collapsed against the wall.  
   
People used to tell him that it was like being hit by a train. But that wasn’t true. That wasn’t what it felt like at all. It was like standing at the top of a mountain, and then let a tidal wave of warmth, security, and absolute apathy wash over you. It’ll surround you, go into your mouth, and it will drive down your throat and settle deep inside your soul.  
   
“Hey.”  
   
Stiles’ dark lashes parted slowly, only to reveal the white part of his eyeballs until dark irises eventually became visible and centered in the middle. He gave a single nod towards Scott, who was backlit by brightness until he crouched down to pull out the needle that was still attached to the bend of his arm. A small trickle of blood traveled down the pale, scarred skin.  
   
Scott settled down beside him and shut his eyes. The sunbeams shone down onto his face, heating it up. Stiles emitted a groan and his head fell to the side, settling on Scott’s shoulder.  
   
“…m’ sorry.”  
 

* * *

  
   
The next day Stiles stumbled down to one of his favorite coffee shops straight after his morning shot. The personnel knew about his addiction, and didn’t bother him unless he dozed off.  
   
He ordered a large black coffee and sat down in one of the huge armchairs. He watched people rush by outside the window; parents with small children, teenagers walking hand in hand. They thought they were happy, but they didn’t know what true happiness was. Muddle their blood with 50 mg of pure heroin and they wouldn’t think of anything else, ever again.  
   
Stiles had been having hallucinations lately. He saw stark, ugly colors when he shut his eyes and there were people talking in his mind, not screaming but still loud enough to make his ears ring and his head spike with pain. Sometimes he thought he could see a man in the corner of his eyes, but when he turned to look, there was no one there.  
   
It scared him. And sometimes he thought he was going mad. But whenever he felt the rising fear, he’d turn his hands into fists and force the dread out, into his palms, and punch a wall until the fright turned into dull ache.  
   
He reached for his coffee and grasped the warm cup tightly. He could see the reflection of his face in the dark liquid and it made him cringe. His cheeks were hollowing out and his eyes seemed dull. His hands were bony, and blood was still congealing under his fingernails. His hair was getting longer; he’d have to buzz it off soon, as it was easier to manage.  
   
“Can I sit here?”  
   
He looked up towards the man who had interrupted his thoughts. He had the most intense eyes Stiles had ever seen. They were like frozen explosions, golden in the middle and darker at the edges. They reminded him of the wave of sand escaping a foot trampled down into the ocean floor.  
   
Stiles was suddenly lost for words. “Uh … yeah. Sure.” A quick scan around the room confirmed that there were indeed several unoccupied tables available.  
   
He spared the man another quick glance as he settled down into the armchair facing his. He had a razor sharp jaw and muscles that were bulging under his thin shirt. He made the blood in Stiles body feel hot, like a weak resemblance of the drugs circulating in his veins.  
   
The glinting eyes flickered to stare back at him, and he quickly looked down at his coffee again. He noticed that his cheeks were reddened in the reflection, and somehow it made him seem more … intact.  
   
‘Why does he want to sit with me?’ Stiles wondered. People usually avoided him with fiery determination. He often caught them staring at him with disgust or, in worst case, pity. Sometimes he fell over in buses while in the afterglow of a shot, and the bus driver had to get up and push him out. He was scum; rotten and dirty because he lived in a world detached from everyone else’s. So _why did he want to sit with me?_  
  
Stiles took a sip of his cooling coffee and noticed that the man had pulled up a laptop and was typing away with quick fingers. ‘Perhaps he just wanted to sit by the window’ Stiles thought. ‘Yeah. That’s probably it.’  
   
He reached inside his pocket to pull out his phone. He had 2 new messages, one from Scott and one from his telephone network operator. _Your balance of account is currently empty. Please visit-_  
  
He thrust the phone back into his pocked quickly, as he really couldn’t afford spend money on … anything basically, besides drugs. And Stiles was a fan of ignoring the problem until it eventually just went away. He put his coffee back on the table and returned his gaze to the people rushing by outside the window.  
   
The clouds were turning darker, heavy with rain and Stiles stared at them until they began to leak down onto the dry pavement. People halted and lifted their palms up towards the sky, and when the drops splashed down onto their skin, they brought out and extended their umbrellas to continue down the street.  
   
The clank of porcelain against hard wood and the sound of surging liquid brought Stiles’ attention back to the room. A sudden horror coursed through his veins when he was met with sight of the stranger’s clean-looking computer pooling in the remains of his coffee. He hadn’t even noticed that he was bobbing his knee until it had collided with the table and caused his cup to fall over.  
   
“Shit! Oh my god.” Stiles burst and reached forward to sweep the liquid away with his hands in a frantic manner. The man remained frozen for several seconds, seeming unsure of how to react until a scowl made its way onto his face.  
   
“It’s already broken.” The young man said roughly as Stiles continued to sweep uselessly while muttering curses under his breath. He eventually glanced at the screen and noticed that it was indeed very black. He slumped back into his chair in a defeated manner and gave the man an apologetic look.  
   
“Fuck. I’m- … I’m so sorry man.” He tried but the words didn’t seem to ease him in the slightest. He frowned and cocked his head as if expecting a more throughout explanation. Stiles fidgeted nervously and began to stutter. “Er … Maybe if- maybe if you let it dry for a few hours- … you know … or use a hand dryer! Because- I mean … that worked for me when I dropped my phone in the toilet. Oh, and put it in rice! I’m sure it’ll be as good as new.” Stiles finished with a sheepish smile.  
   
The man clenched his jaw impatiently and stated determinedly, “You’re going to have to pay for this.”  
   
Stiles stilted smile fell and he couldn’t keep the desperation out of his voice, “But- … but I don’t have any money. I have barely enough for food, and I just spent it all on- … don’t you have like … an insurance?” His eyes turned pleading and he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking with the panic building up inside of him.  
   
“No. I don’t.” The man stated through gritted teeth and stared at him with an indifferent look. Stiles didn’t seem to have any effect on him at all. He rubbed a hand down his face and took a deep breath to soothe his nerves.  
   
“Look,” Stiles began, managing to sound somewhat composed. “I don’t have a job, and I don’t have any money. I’m really sorry about this, but there’s actually no way I will be able to pay you back.” The man kept staring at him just as coldly. Stiles panicked mind told him to flee, and in the silence that followed; he quickly grabbed his jacket and began to tug it on. He was just about to pace off when the man suddenly rose from his seat and grabbed him by the nape with a bruising force. Stiles kicked and struggled as he was literally dragged out of the café. No one seemed to notice him, or more likely, no one cared.  
   
Once they were outside, the man pushed him up against the wall hard enough for Stiles to lose his breath. The rain was pouring down on them and for several seconds he could do nothing but stare into the roaring fire evident in the man’s eyes. Stiles knew that he was probably going to get thrown into an abandoned alley and thoroughly mauled and it made his skin prickle with an oncoming panic attack. “Please don’t … I’m so sorry that I- …  I just- I can’t take a beating very well.” He breathed out, voice hoarse and body trembling as the rain soaked through his jacket.  
   
The man’s dark hair was sticking to his forehead, he held Stiles in a firm grip and leaned in close to his ear, “Then you’re going to have to do something else for me.” He threatened, and Stiles could feel the press of his body against his. He tried desperately to push him off but the man seemed to be made out of stone. “What- … what do you mean?”  
   
Stiles felt a warm breath against his skin as the man laughed huskily, “You could pay me in a different currency.”  
   
Broad hands traveled down his body, snaked up beneath his shirt and touched his skin in a way that told Stiles’ exactly what the man was aiming at. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the sting of tears forming in them. “Yeah … okay.”  
   
In the next moment he was being dragged towards a parking lot down the street and then hauled into the backseat of a sleek, black Camaro. The fact that he owned a car that was worth more than all of Stiles’ belongings combined made his blood boil with rage, because the guy obviously didn’t need money at all. He wanted to scream and hit him and tell him what ha cowards he was, but all he did was sit still and try not to claw up the seats.  
   
Stiles shut his eyes and leaned his face against the cold window eventually. As they drove off, he listened to the sound of rain pattering against the glass and it reminded him of that day a few years ago, when he was on his way to the cinema with his dad but then-  
   
 _There’s an angel watching over you, Stiles._  
  
He can remember seeing two bright lights up front, like the eyes of a predator moving towards him so fast he barely had a chance to blink. In the next moment he was reaching his hands out and it had felt like his arms were breaking off once they collided with the-  
   
Then there were glass piercing through his skin, blood rushing to paint his handprint on the windshield, there were screams and a heart was staggering to a stop, there was the pounding of someone breaking in, someone dragging him out so that he could lie down in the rain in the middle of the highway.  
   
‘There’s an angel watching over you, Stiles.’ The nurse had told him. ‘Yeah,’ Stiles had replied. ‘-my mom. She’s lovely isn’t she?’  
   
The door he leaned against was suddenly yanked open and Stiles was jolted back to reality.  
   
“Get out.” The man hissed.  
   
Stiles unbuckled the seatbelt with trembling fingers and got out of the car. The man didn’t grab him this time, but simply waited for Stiles to approach the building. He stood frozen for a few seconds until he was nudged at the back and began pacing towards the house.  
   
The man guided him inside and locked the door behind them. Stiles felt his skin tighten with the need for a fix, and felt disappointed by the fact that he’d have to snort it.  
   
“Uh- I just need to use the bathroom real quick.” He blurted. The man shook his head and pointed towards a small table in front of the sofa. “Just do it here.”  
   
Stiles sighed and reluctantly sat down on the floor by the table. He brought out a tiny wrapped up ball of plastic wrap, filled with white powder. “I need a plate or something.” He said and it only took a few seconds until one was thrust in front of him. He emptied the contents onto the plate and rolled up a receipt to snort though.  
   
He used his credit card to spread the powder out evenly and then swiped it up into two delicate lines. He leaned forward and snorted sharply, the immediate sting to the insides of his nostril made him wince slightly, but he quickly positioned his handmade straw in front of the other line and snorted it up as well.  
   
He dropped the receipt and shut his eyes briefly. He shivered as the relief hit him, telling him that everything was okay, everything would be fine. Gravity seemed to pull him backwards, and he let it guide him until he was leaning back onto his elbows. He tilted his head back, exposing his throat and the carotid arteries, pulsing with life; heroin turned into morphine, hemoglobin and magic.  
   
He knew that he was about to get raped, and the knowledge of that was trying to scare him. In the back of his mind he knew that he should be terrified, but he … wasn’t. It was as if the world was split into two, things could happen around him and try to break in, but when he was high he was shackled safely within the bones of his skull. Nothing could bother him, and nothing mattered.  
   
“wha’s your name?” He found himself asking, eyes still shut and head hazy with warmth.  
   
“Derek.”  
   
Stiles smiled despite himself. He leaned back even further until he was lying flat against the cold floor.  
   
“Well, aren’t you gonna fuck me, Derek?”  
   
Nothing happened for several seconds, and Stiles was enjoying the warm embrace of security until he felt Derek’s arms wrap around him and pull him up into his arms.  
   
He was being carried to a soft bed, which he was urged to lie down on. He curled himself into a ball on top of the soft sheets, but Derek grabbed him and spread him out. He eased his clothes off until he wasn’t wearing anything but his boxers. He felt the press of a heavy, naked body on top of his and a warm breath by his ear. “Wanted to fuck you ever since the first time I saw you, you’re always biting your lips so prettily.”  
   
Stiles realized that he should probably question how or where the man had seen him before, but he didn’t really mind. He felt fingers slowly travel down his face until they were touching his lips, and he opened his mouth to let the man stroke down his warm tongue. He sealed his lips around them and slickened his fingers up. Derek slipped off of him, and Stiles was falling closer as the weight of Derek’s body made the bed dip. Once his head had stopped spinning, he blinked his eyes open and caught Derek staring at him.  
   
The blinds by the window where pulled down, and the weak light that managed to penetrate the polluted air was painting Derek’s features in shallow lines. One of them streaked right across his eye, it seemed as if he was trying to pull him in. The fingers feeling his mouth were gently pulled out. Stiles had never been with someone this beautiful, and maybe it wouldn’t be that bad after all.  
   
“You know what,” Stiles began, distant, like this was nothing but a dream within a dream; he could hardly hear his own voice. “-if you weren’t so fucked up, we could totally go on a date or something.” The man frowned at him, and it was the first time he saw him wearing an expression that wasn’t laced with anger. Stiles closed his eyes and continued, “We could see a movie together … or we could go have dinner at a fancy restaurant,” He could almost see it in front of him. How pleasant and … normal it would be. Derek would be wearing something nice and Stiles would be wearing something that covered up his scars, like they were never there in the first place.  
   
“- or maybe we could sit in the park, you know, in the grass and just talk about stuff.” A new picture flashed and burned in vicious colors inside his mind, and he wanted to reach out and touch it. He was sitting under a tree, and he was letting the soft grass run between his fingers. Someone was sitting next to him, outlines fainted and glowing. He could see his face, and he was looking at Stiles’ in a way that said he was worth keeping. Maybe this was what normal people dreamt about. No needles or blood or mind blanking out in apathy.  
   
When he opened his eyes, Derek seemed almost lost. The cold façade was melting away and there seemed to be something breaking in him, something long suppressed that was beginning to creep back; it looked like it hurt. Stiles leaned in and pressed his lips to his, warm and comforting. He felt a tongue force it’s way into his mouth and he let him in. Derek positioned his hand on the inside of Stiles thigh, and began to pull him closer.  He got up and settled between his spread legs, hands touching him everywhere as if mapping the exposed skin.  
   
He pulled his boxers down and let his fingers ghost along the pale skin until he lifted and spread his knees as wide as possible. There was the sound of a bottle popping and then something slick at his entrance, pushing in, deeper, deeper.  
   
Thick fingers were stretching him until he could feel the head of Derek’s dick trying to probe in, and Stiles whimpered at the feeling. He wanted to close his legs together and curl into a ball and have someone stroke their fingers through his hair. He yelped, as he was suddenly full of thick cock and his back arched in pain.  
   
Derek leaned down and groaned into his ear, whispering filth as he fucked him hard and slow. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you? Bet you love taking dick. You’re such a little slut, Stiles.”  
   
Derek’s cock was dragging along his prostate inside him and there was no way he could withhold the moans from escaping his mouth. His body was being scuffed across the sheets with each powerful thrust and he felt himself decaying under Derek’s body. He wrapped his arms around him and felt the muscles moving under the skin of his back.  
   
 _‘Stiles._ ’  
   
“Yeah …”  
   
Tears were stinging behind his eyes when he reached a hand down to tug at himself. He felt blunt teeth sink down into his neck, hard enough for Stiles to whine as he tried to bring himself off. He would probably never have anyone this hot fucking him again, and even though he wasn’t longing for sex; he might as well enjoy it while he could.  
   
The man came, eventually, and stayed inside him as Stiles brought himself off with wanton moans and whimpers.  
   
He didn’t stay for long afterwards, he didn’t say goodbye and didn’t look at him, either. In the few years that followed, he thought he’d finally found out who the man in the corner of his eyes was, but when he turned around to look, there was no one there. 

Sometimes Stiles would think about the broken look on Derek’s face and think that maybe, if they weren’t so fucked up; they could have been something.

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics at the beginning are from 'The 1975 - Robbers'


End file.
